


Rusty Old American Dream

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Impala Sex, M/M, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: “Y-you know,” Dean presses through chattering teeth, “This a-ain’t what I m-meant when I said ‘l-let’s get warmed up’.”





	Rusty Old American Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com) square "Impala Sex".
> 
> Title is a David Wilcox song.

“Y-you know,” Dean presses through chattering teeth, “This a-ain’t what I m-meant when I said ‘l-let’s get warmed up’.”

Sam pulls him in by his hips, into his lap, grabbing for the scratchy backseat blanket, drawing it around them. “Complaining?” he shoots back.

A smack against his shoulder. Dean’s fingers brush his neck.

“Come on.” Sam wraps his arms around him, sneaks his freezing fingers up the back of Dean’s T-shirt, under his jacket.

Dean shivers violently. “Asshole.”

Hums, _mh-hm_. Presses his fingers deeper into the dip of Dean’s back, Dean’s thighs spread against Sam’s sides.

“Hold this.” He thrusts the corners of the blanket at Dean. Cold palms close over Sam’s and Dean tucks the blanket up under his chin. It leaves Sam’s shoulders open to the chilly air of the car’s interior but he doesn’t care. Already in the process of working Dean’s jeans open, sliping icy hands into his underwear.

Dean shivers again. Curses.

Half-hard, hot silk quickly warms Sam’s palm. Fingers dig into his shoulders. “Jesus, Sammy.”

The blanket pools around their hips, cool air hitting skin that’s not covered by clothes, and Dean tips forward into Sam’s neck, breathing hard. Sam brushes his hand along his brother’s thigh, underneath, and lifts. Slotting them closer together, popping his own fly with one hand.

He nudges Dean back, seeks his mouth, hot and wet against the lingering chill, and strokes them both between their stomachs. Dean shakes against his front, all twitching hips and stuttery breaths on Sam’s tongue.

He doesn’t stop rocking against Sam, his knees squished against the back of the leather seat, weight warm and comfortable instead of crushing on top of Sam, and there’s really no room to move but Sam tilts his hips up into his brother’s all the same.

“ _Sam_.” Hiccup against his mouth, Dean’s forehead fever-hot against his own. He digs the nails of his unoccupied hand into the space between Dean’s shoulder blades.

Hiss, a nip to his bottom lips, Dean’s mouth open and panting and he jerks in Sam’s large-palmed grip. Hot-wet spill over Sam’s fingers and Sam squeezes his eyes shut, comes, nosing along Dean’s cheek, breathing damp against skin. Dean burrows into his neck, tiny hitches of breath.

Chest heaving, Sam pulls his brother into a sticky embrace. Dean is pliant against him, boneless, and Sam nudges him once he’s got his breath back.

“Hand me some tissues from the glove box, wouldcha?”

Dean groans, moves, blanket falling away further and Sam hisses. He wipes his hands. Throws the tissues onto the floor.

“Hey!”

Tugs Dean back in, hitches the blanket around them. Dean settles down again, nose jammed into the space below Sam’s jaw.

“Good?”

Dean hums. “Comfy.”


End file.
